3. 2./. 2.5, 

LIBRARY  OF  THE  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 

PRINCETON,  N.  J. 

Presented  by 


Tr(S5 .  "c^ .  Gr.  cA  \\D\De.n  . 


BV  213  .D3  1906 

Dawson,  William  James, 

1854- 

1928. 

The  forgotten  secret 

The    Forgotten    Secret 


THE  WORKS   OF 
W.    J.     DAWSON 


THE  MAKERS  OF  MODERN  POETRY 

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The  Forgotten  Secret 


W.  J.  DAWSON 

Jut/ior  of**  The  Makers  of  English  Fiction,*' 
"  The  Evangelistic  Note"  etc. 


New  York       Chicago       Toronto 

Fleming  H.   Revell  Company 

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Copyright,  1906,  by 
FLEMING  H.  REVELL  COMPANY 

Second  Edition 


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This  book  is  inscribed 

with  the  name  of 

Edward  Everett  Hale,  Junior 

with  the  author  s 

gratitude  and  regards 


The  Forgotten  Secret 
I 

Do  we  believe  in  prayer?  It  is  a 
strange  question  to  ask  in  a  world 
which  apparently  accepts  and  hon- 
ours both  the  habit  and  practice  of  prayer. 
Yet  a  thinker  and  scientific  observer  of  the 
eminence  of  Sir  Oliver  Lodge  has  recently 
declared  prayer  to  be  the  Forgotten  Secret 
of  the  church.  It  is  obvious,  therefore,  that 
before  we  can  attempt  any  answer  to  the 
question,  we  must  define  with  some  pre- 
cision what  we  really  mean  by  prayer. 

Some  things  about  prayer  we  all  be- 
lieve, and  are  bound  to  believe,  because 
they  are  accepted  facts  in  the  order  of  hu- 
man life. 

Thus,  for  example,  we  all  know  prayer 
to  be  a  permanent  habit  and  custom  of 
human  creatures  in  all  ages  of  the  world. 
Prayer  is  a  fact  in  history.  All  religions 
are  founded  on  prayer.  And  strangely 
[S] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

enough,  as  it  would  seem,  when  we  recol- 
lect the  claim  made  by  Christianity  to  the 
primacy  of  all  religions,  the  practice  of 
prayer  is  more  evident  among  peoples 
who  reject  Christianity  than  among  those 
who  accept  it.  As  one  travels  eastward, 
to  those  lands  which  have  been  the  cradle 
of  all  existing  faiths,  the  hold  which  prayer 
has  on  the  common  habit  of  human  life 
becomes  more  evident  at  every  step.  From 
the  high  towers  of  cities  "  half  as  old  as 
time,"  the  sonorous  and  sweet  voice  of 
the  muezzin  calls  the  willing  multitude  to 
this  act,  which  is  the  eloquent  witness  of 
things  unseen.  The  camel-driver  in  the 
desert,  the  Lascar  sailor  on  the  ship,  at  the 
proper  moment  spreads  his  carpet,  and  re- 
gardless of  curious  or  scornful  eyes,  ad- 
dresses his  silent  invocation  to  the  heavens. 
In  a  Mohammedan  mosque  I  once  wit- 
nessed a  scene  which  profoundly  moved 
me.  In  the  pulpit  stood  the  reader  of  the 
Koran,  and  after  each  sonorous  sentence 
four  hundred  men  bowed  their  foreheads  to 
[6] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

the  ground,  reciting  the  response ;  and  then 
followed  a  thrilling  silence,  through  which 
throbbed  the  lingering  echo  of  that  solemn 
litany,  as  it  reverberated  round  the  vast 
dome,  and  died  upon  the  porches  of  the 
ear.  A  Roman  Catholic  priest  who  wit- 
nessed the  scene  with  me,  exclaimed, 
**  Surely  God  in  His  mercy  must  have  a 
large  place  in  His  kingdom  for  these  men, 
for  He  alone  could  teach  them  thus  to 
pray."  The  kingdoms  of  the  world  and 
the  glory  of  them  may  have  been  given  to 
the  western  nations,  and  we  may  suspect 
by  whom ;  but  the  older  kingdom  of  the 
simple-hearted  still  is  found  among  the 
dreamers  of  the  East.  The  outward  sign 
of  that  kingdom,  now  as  ever,  is  prayer. 

Concerning  this  universal  habit  of 
prayer,  one  thing  at  least  may  be  said,  if 
prayer  has  no  meaning,  and  no  definite 
relation  to  the  economy  of  life,  it  is  quite 
clearly  the  most  extraordinary  delusion 
that  ever  possessed  the  human  mind.  It 
is  as  though  a  man  should  stand  at  a  tele- 
[7] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

phone  whose  wire  is  cut,  speaking  thou- 
sands of  messages  to  an  unhearing  ear, 
and  inventing  replies  which  have  their 
only  origin  in  his  own  imagination.  The 
incoherent  brain  of  madness  could  invent 
no  crazier  occupation.  Either  he  who 
scoffs  at  prayer  or  they  who  practice  it  are 
mad, — there  is  no  escape  from  the  dilemma. 
But  it  is  scarcely  possible  that  immemorial 
custom  has  no  sanction  in  experience. 
Reason  itself  affirms  some  intelligent  Pres- 
ence at  the  other  end  of  the  telephone.  It 
is  incredible  that  vast  generations  of  men, 
and  among  them  the  wisest  and  the  best, 
should  have  spent  their  lives  talking  to 
their  own  Echo. 

Do  we  believe  in  prayer?  No  doubt 
many  of  us  do  believe  in  what  has  been 
called  the  subjective  influence  of  prayer, 
which  simply  means  the  sanative  or  com- 
posing or  uplifting  effect  of  prayer  upon 
ourselves.  ''He  who  rises  from  his  knees 
a  better  man,  his  prayer  is  answered,"  is  an 
aphorism  which  probably  represents  all  that 
[8] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

many  intelligent  and  even  pious  persons  are 
willing  to  admit  as  to  the  use  of  prayer. 
How  little  this  amounts  to  we  may  judge 
when  we  find  a  physician,  who  is  a  com- 
plete sceptic  of  religious  truth,  insisting  on 
the  sanative  use  of  prayer  as  a  means  of 
physical  healing.  That  pain  may  be 
soothed,  and  even  arrested  by  the  act  of 
prayer ;  that  some  poor  creature  on  the 
rack  of  anguish  may  draw  a  moment's  ease 
from  the  sweet  voice  of  some  woman  pray- 
ing at  his  side,  and  from  her  cool  hands 
laid  on  him  in  outflowing  sympathy,  is 
comprehensible  enough.  But  if  there  be 
no  value  in  prayer  beyond  its  reflex  influ- 
ence, would  it  not  be  easy  to  find  many 
other  means  through  which  the  same  kind 
of  influence  might  be  exerted  ?  Might  not 
one  man  say  with  justice,  ''  Music  has  the 
same  effect  upon  me — it  composes  or  up- 
lifts me  "  ;  and  another  claim  the  same  effect 
from  the  contemplation  of  art,  and  yet 
another  from  communion  with  Nature? 
Life  has  fortunately  many  anodynes  for  our 
[9] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

weariness,  many  tonics  for  our  self-disgust ; 
is  prayer  but  one  among  many  medicines 
that  man  has  discovered  to  heal  the  mind 
diseased,  and  raze  the  written  troubles  from 
the  brain?  If  that  be  all,  clearly  prayer 
needs  no  explanation,  for  there  is  nothing 
to  explain.  It  contains  no  mystery.  It  is 
not  a  secret.  It  is  a  matter  of  psychology, 
a  matter  even  of  physiology.  It  is  but  one 
of  man's  many  methods  of  getting  out  of 
himself,  that  he  may  draw  from  an  ideal 
world  some  strength  to  enable  him  to  en- 
dure the  struggle  and  disillusion  of  the  real. 


[10] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 
II 

LET  us  now  see  then  if  there  is  any 
other  definition  of  prayer  which  is 
more  satisfactory  alike  to  the  rea- 
son and  the  spiritual  instinct.  Such  a  defi- 
nition is  not  far  to  seek  :  it  is  found  in  the 
words  of  the  greatest  Master  of  prayer  who 
ever  lived.  Here  is  His  definition,  than 
which  nothing  could  be  more  positive  and 
lucid. 

But  thoUy  when  thou  prayest^  enter  into 
thy  closet^  and  when  thou  hast  shut  thy  door^ 
pray  to  thy  Father  which  is  in  secret ;  and 
thy  Father^  which  seeth  in  secret^  shall  re- 
ward thee  openly. 

Let  us  postpone  for  the  moment  the  de- 
tails of  this  definition,  and  ask  what  is  the 
broad  and  general  statement  which  it 
makes  ?  It  is  that  prayer  is  nia^n! s  actual 
means  of  contact  and  communion  with  God. 
Thou  and  thy  Father :  the  secret  chamber ^ 
and  the  God  who  seeth  in  secret.  We  have 
all  seen  in  the  clear  green  water  of  the  sea- 
pools  those  delicate  creatures  which  chil- 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

dren  speak  of  by  the  common  term, 
"jelly-fish."  Inactive,  they  have  little 
beauty,  but  as  we  watch  them  a  sudden 
prompting  seizes  them,  and  they  push 
out  a  score  of  exquisite  tentacles  and  fila- 
ments, which  find  a  response  in  elements 
unseen  by  us.  So  when  a  man  truly 
prays  the  delicate  tentacles  of  the  soul 
push  themselves  out,  and  explore  the  in- 
finite in  search  of  God.  The  human  soul 
seeks  the  Soul  of  the  universe,  until  it  grips, 
and  is  gripped  by,  the  living  force  of  God. 
We  apprehend  that  by  which  we  are 
apprehended.  The  Soul  of  the  universe 
enfolds  our  soul,  and  for  an  instant  the  life 
of  God  flows  into  our  being,  enriching  and 
invigorating  it.  When  we  use  these  lat- 
ter terms  of  enrichment  and  invigoration, 
we  admit  the  reflex  influence  of  prayer  ; 
but  we  claim  the  positive  act  also  of  a  real 
contact  with  God.  And  as  the  questing 
tentacles  in  the  green  sea-water  find  ele- 
ments of  nutriment  invisible  to  us,  so  our 
souls  feed  on  God,  and  draw  into  the  se- 

[12] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

cret  fountains  of  our  own  life  the  force  of 
His  divine  being.  This  is  prayer  as  Christ 
conceived  it.  He  and  the  Father  were  one 
— one  in  the  mystery  of  contact,  commun- 
ion, spiritual  absorption.  Prayer  is  thus 
the  commingling  of  two  personalities  :  thou 
and  thy  Father :  a  conscious  contact  of  my 
consciousness  and  God's  consciousness ; 
and  these  two  in  the  act  of  prayer  become 
for  me  the  only  two  abiding  realities  in  the 
universe. 

Prayer,  as  Christ  conceives  it,  is  thus  the 
expression  of  an  inner  or  concealed  life  in 
ourselves.  It  is  one  of  the  commonplaces 
of  human  observation  that  every  man  and 
woman  has  a  secret  life,  an  unexplored  self, 
of  which  the  world  knows  nothing.  We 
often  imagine  that  the  lonely  people  in 
this  world  are  simply  those  who,  for  one 
reason  or  another,  have  been  unable  to 
form  those  social  ties  which  are  the  com- 
mon features  of  social  life,  but  there  is  a 
much  wider  sense  in  which  every  human 
creature  is  lonely.  The  real  loneliness 
[13] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

of  men  and  women  is  the  loneliness  of 
individuality,  and  this  cannot  be  remedied 
by  any  social  affinities.  It  may  be  modi- 
fied, no  doubt ;  we  may  find  a  friend  who 
understands  us,  or  in  married  love 
we  may  find  an  intimacy  which  lifts 
the  burden  of  the  years  by  sharing  it; 
but  in  the  closest  of  all  human  rela- 
tions there  is  imperfect  contact.  Large 
areas  of  our  nature  lie  unexplored  eyen  to 
the  quest  of  the  tenderest  love.  Beneath 
the  face  that  smiles  upon  us  daily  with  the 
friendliest  confidence  lies  a  whole  world  of 
thought  and  feeling  of  which  we  have  but 
the  faintest  and  most  fugitive  of  glimpses, 
or  none  at  all.  For  many  people  language 
is  an  embarrassment  rather  than  a  means 
of  self-revelation  ;  they  are  totally  unable  to 
express  their  real  self  to  another.  Men  and 
women  often  live  together  in  the  intimacy 
of  the  household  for  long  years,  and  only 
once  or  twice,  in  some  rare  moment  of 
emotion,  really  know  each  other's  hearts. 
What  makes  the  tragedy  of  such  a  situa- 


T^he    Forgotten    Secret 

tion  is  that  all  the  time  each  knows  the 
other  worth  knowing,  and  desires  a  closer 
knowledge,  but  gropes  in  vain  to  find  the 
clue  to  intimacy.  Does  any  human  crea- 
ture ever  tell  another  ^// that  is  in  his  or  her 
heart  ?  Dare  they  ?  Where  can  we  be  so 
sure  of  comprehension  and  sympathy  that 
we  may  venture  to  unlock  the  last  door  of 
the  heart  and  invite  inspection  ?  Of  whom 
among  the  men  or  women  we  know  can  we 
be  sure  that  '*  to  know  all  is  to  forgive  all "  ? 
Alas,  in  the  best  of  us  there  are  hidden 
motions  of  the  spirit,  there  are  the  records 
of  hideous  things  said  or  done  in  past  years, 
there  are  passages  of  sordid  and  sorry  ca- 
pitulation to  our  worse  selves,  before  which, 
if  they  stood  revealed,  Love  itself  would  flee 
astonished  and  affrighted.  One  only  has 
trodden  this  earth  who  knew  all,  yet  forgave 
all ;  He  "  knew  what  was  in  man,"  yet  still 
loved  him ;  with  Christ  utter  knowledge  was 
utter  love.  And  in  this  infinite  capacity  for 
sympathy  Christ  is  indeed  God  to  us,  for 
to  know  Him  is  to  know  the  Father  also. 
[IS] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 


III 

IT  is  when  we  thus  put  against  the  lone- 
liness of  the  human  heart  the  infinite 
sympathy  of  God's  heart,  that  we  begin 
to  understand  the  true  nature  of  prayer. 
The  secret  life  can  reveal  itself  alone  to  the 
Father  who  seeth  in  secret.  Some  of  us 
have  perhaps  imagined  what  it  would 
mean  to  us  to  have  a  friend  who  under- 
stood us  by  sheer  intuitive  sympathy ;  one 
with  whom  we  could  sit  in  sociable  silence, 
saying  nothing,  and  yet  certain  that  the 
silence  drew  us  nearer  together  than  any 
speech  ;  and  perhaps,  in  rare  instances,  we 
have  met  such  an  one,  whose  nature  was, 
so  to  speak,  tuned  into  a  common  rhythm 
with  our  own,  so  that  merely  to  be  in  the 
beloved  presence  was  to  be  mystically  con- 
soled and  refreshed.  It  is  but  rarely,  at 
the  best,  that  this  can  happen  between 
human  creatures,  but  this  mystic  relation 
can  and  does  exist  between  man  and  God. 
[i6] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

He  seeth  in  secret.  The  secret  pain  or 
shame  or  love  is  unveiled  to  the  secret 
God.  When  we  reach  this  condition  in 
which  our  hearts  are  in  rhythm  with  God's 
heart,  we  know  what  prayer  is.  It  is  a 
condition  in  which  we  ask  nothing,  de- 
mand nothing,  and  even  say  nothing ;  we 
simply  lean  our  tired  hearts  on  God.  We 
give  up  our  secret ;  we  allow  God  to  draw 
it  from  us,  and  are  no  longer  lonely. 

To  understand  prayer,  then,  we  have 
first  of  all  to  rid  ourselves  of  what  may  be 
called  a  mechanical  conception  of  prayer. 
We  constantly  speak  of  answers  to  prayer, 
but  have  we  ever  taken  the  trouble  to 
define  exactly  what  we  mean  by  the  term  ? 
In  most  instances  the  term  implies  a  kind 
of  mechanical  or  mathematic  correspond- 
ence between  the  thing  desired  and  the 
thing  granted.  Prayer  is,  of  course,  solici-  ] 
tation  ;  Christ  Himself  tells  us  to  ask  that  j> 
we  may  receive.  But  Christ  nowhere  tells 
us  that  we  shall  receive  precisely  the  thing 
which  we  have  asked.     "  The  Father  who 

[17] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

seeth  in  secret  shall  reward  thee  openly," 
is  His  word.  It  is  the  reward  or  recom- 
pense of  prayer  on  which  He  lays  emphasis 
— not  on  a  mechanical  exactitude  of  answer. 
We  shall  indeed  receive  something,  but  it 
may  be  something  quite  different  from  the 
thing  we  expected,  something  that  is  more 
precious,  or  more  requisite  to  us.  And 
here  lies  the  difference  between  prayer  as 
it  exists  in  the  older  religions  of  the  world, 
and  prayer  as  it  is  defined  in  the  Christian 
religion.  In  the  older  religions  the  sup- 
pliant seems  to  be  continually  saying,  *'  Let 
my  will  be  done" ;  in  the  Christian  religion 
we  are  taught  to  say,  "  Let  Thy  will  be 
done."  The  Christian  conception  of  prayer 
is  not  to  persuade  God  to  do  something 
for  us,  but  to  bring  ourselves  into  such 
\  submission  to  God  that  He  may  be  able 
to  work  in  and  through  us.  A  very  simple 
\illustration  may  make  this  clear  to  us. 
How  is  it  that  the  wireless  Marconi  mes- 
sage finds  its  way  to  some  particular  ship  ? 
Under  the  midnight  stars,  upon  the  wide 
[i8] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

white  surges  of  the  ocean,  there  toss,  it 
may  be,  a  score  of  ships,  yet  the  Marconi- 
gram  interprets  itself  to  one  ship  alone. 
Why  is  this  ?  Simply  because  at  the  top- 
mast of  the  one  ship  there  is  a  tiny  appa- 
ratus which  is  tuned  into  exact  accord 
with  the  corresponding  apparatus  from 
which  the  message  originated.  They  share 
a  common  rhythm,  and  it  is  by  means  of 
this  rhythm  that  this  viewless  force,  which 
does  not  so  much  as  exist  for  all  these 
other  ships,  becomes  intelligent  to  this  one 
ship.  In  the  same  way  the  object  of  all 
prayer  is  to  establish  correspondence  with 
God,  and  this  correspondence  is  possible 
/  only  when  the  common  rhythm  between 
\  man  and  God  is  found.  Prayer  is  the 
(  effort  to  bring  the  human  soul  into  tune 
with  the  Infinite. 

/    Hence  its  chief  note  is  submission,  its 
/  chief  aim  is  receptivity  to  God.     It  is  not 
a  mechanical  answer  we  seek,  but  the  in- 
flowing of  God's  being  into  ours  in  what- 
ever fashion  may  seem  best  to  Him. 
[19] 


T'he    Forgotten    Secret 

It  will  perhaps  do  more  than  anything 
else  to  clarify  our  conception  of  prayer  if 
we  discard  the  word  answer,  and  replace  it 
with  Christ's  word  reward.  For,  in  the 
human  sense,  when  Christ  prayed  that  the 
cup  might  pass  from  Him,  He  was  not  an- 
swered, for  the  cup  of  anguish  was  not 
withdrawn.  But  Christ  was  rewarded, 
and  rewarded  openly  in  the  strength  to  en- 
dure, in  the  heroism  to  die,  and  in  victory 
over  death.  When,  before  the  high  priest. 
He  witnessed  a  good  confession ;  when, 
before  Pontius  Pilate,  he  proclaimed  in  un- 
faltering accents  the  reality  of  His  kingship 
and  His  kingdom  ;  when,  upon  the  cross, 
He  said,  *'  Father,  into  Thy  hands  I  com- 
mend My  spirit,"  Christ  received  more  than 
an  answer  to  prayer — something  better, 
and  something  completer — He  received  its 
reward.  So  when  we  pray,  though  we 
may  not  get  quite  what  we  expected,  we 
do  always  get  back  something  for  our 
prayer,  and  what  we  get  is  something 
greater  and  sweeter,  and  more  adequate 
[20] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

than  we  asked.  "  God  is  able  to  do  for  us 
far  more  abundantly  above  all  that  we  can 
ask  or  think  " — and  He  does  it. 

It  was  because  Christ  knew  how  imper- 
fect and  erroneous  were  men's  common 
conceptions  of  prayer,  that  He  was  at  great 
pains  to  instruct  the  disciples  how  to  pray. 

It  will  surprise  any  one  who  reads  the 
Gospels  with  attention  to  discover  how 
much  of  Christ's  time  was  occupied  in  com- 
municating to  the  disciples  right  ideas  of 
prayen  It  is  evident  that  they  did  not  un- 
derstand, and  were  frequently  surprised  at 
the  part  that  prayer  had  in  the  Master's 
life.  Perhaps  they  thought  that  One  so 
pure  as  He  did  not  need  the  constant  prac- 
tice of  prayer ;  or  that  One  on  whom  the 
public  demands  of  ministration  were  so 
heavy,  could  ill  afford  the  time  spent  in 
prayer.  It  is  so  that  the  active  man  of  af- 
fairs often  regards  prayer.  He  regards 
prayer  as  a  sort  of  inactivity.  He  is  in- 
capable of  perceiving  that  most  may  be 
happening  to  a  man  when  nothing  seems 

[31] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

to  happen.  He  is  apt  to  measure  the  im- 
pact of  a  man's  life  upon  others  only  by- 
visible  accomplishment,  and  to  overlook 
the  quieter  processes  of  the  spirit  which 
make  such  accomplishment  possible.  And 
in  the  last  result  of  this  way  of  thinking, 
such  a  man  often  values  the  influence  of  a 
great  life  only  by  the  tumult  it  excites,  by 
the  fussiness  and  hurry  that  accompany  it, 
by  its  outward  energies.  In  the  ordinary 
church  life  of  to-day  this  spirit  is  very  mani- 
fest. The  prayer-meeting,  by  which  I  mean 
the  meeting  for  prayer,  and  prayer  only, 
has  a  very  subordinate  place  in  the  scheme 
of  church  life,  and  in  many  churches  is 
quite  extinct.  There  is  much  doing,  and 
many  run  to  and  fro,  and  knowledge  is  not 
thereby  increased,  but  there  is  little  praying. 
And  in  the  lives  of  Christians  the  same 
spirit  prevails.  Prayer  has  been  crowded 
out  of  their  lives,  as  it  has  been  crowded 
out  of  the  church,  by  the  pressure  of  rest- 
less activities,  many  of  which  are  genuine 
activities  on  behalf  of  the  kingdom  of  God. 

[22] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

Let  us  observe  then  what  Christ  has  to  say 
to  busy  people  on  the  practice  of  prayer. 
For,  whatever  value  we  may  put,  or  others 
may  put,  on  public  activity  for  the  king- 
dom of  Christ,  of  this  we  may  be  very  sure, 
"  God  soon  fades  out  of  the  life  of  the  man 
who  does  not  pray."  And  if  our  conscious- 
ness of  God  diminishes,  we  may  also  be 
sure  that  it  will  not  be  long  before  the  spir- 
itual energies,  which  are  the  source  of  all 
our  pious  activities,  will  diminish  too  ;  and 
with  them  the  activities  themselves  will  be 
atrophied  or  arrested. 


[23] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

IV 

THE  first  thing  on  which  Christ  puts 
emphasis,  is  the  art  of  detachment  : 
prayer  is  a  very  secret  and  a  very 
sacred  thing  ;  we  must  shut  the  door,  "  The 
world  is  too  much  with  us  "  ;  therefore  we 
must  rid  ourselves  of  the  world.  I  have 
sometimes  stood  within  one  of  the  great  ca- 
thedrals of  Europe,  where  everything  min- 
istered to  the  spirit  of  devotion — the  painted 
window,  the  soaring  arch,  the  glorious 
fresco,  the  subdued  and  solemn  light,  the 
sense  of  immemorial  antiquity — and  yet  I 
could  not  pray.  I  could  not  pray  for  one 
simple  reason — ^the  door  was  left  open,  and 
through  that  open  door  there  entered  the 
clatter  of  wheels  and  feet,  the  rush  of  traffic, 
and  the  clamour  of  the  market-place„  Is  it 
not  so  with  us  very  often  in  our  hurried  and 
fugitive  attempts  to  establish  correspond- 
ence with  God  ?  We  leave  the  door  open, 
and  so  "  our  words  fly  up,  our  thoughts 
remain  below.*'  Our  plans  in  life,  our 
[24] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

schemes  of  gain,  our  sordid  anxieties  and 
yet  more  sordid  pleasures,  are  with  us  while 
we  pray.  We  give  the  secret  life  no  real 
chance  of  expression,  because  we  have  not 
detached  ourselves,  and  have  made  little  ef- 
fort to  detach  ourselves,  from  our  public  life. 
The  first  law  of  prayer  is  then  the  closed  door. 
And  if  we  interpret  this  law  as  it  should  be 
interpreted,  it  means  something  like  this  : 
Shut  the  door  of  the  heart  against  intrud- 
ing worldliness,  close  the  porches  of  the  ear, 
draw  the  curtains  of  the  eye,  listen  for  the 
inmost  beating  pulse  of  your  own  being, 
let  the  soul  be  so  quiet  that  its  inmost  depth 
may  yield  up  its  secret,  retire  into  the  in- 
most citadel  of  consciousness — otherwise 
you  cannot  pray.  It  is  a  deliberate  rup- 
of  our  connection  with  outward  things 
that  is  needed,  a  withdrawal  and  detach- 
ment from  them.  When  thou  prayest, 
enter  into  thy  closet — a  deliberate  act  of 
renunciation  of  things  outward — shut  the 
door,  and  be  sure  that  it  is  shut. 

The   reasonableness   of  this  counsel  is 

[25] 


^^ 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

manifest.  Who  is  there  who  needs  to  be 
reminded  that  the  most  sacred  acts  of 
human  life  always  take  place  behind  closed 
doors  ?  Would  it  not  be  a  profanation  of 
love  if  the  word  that  binds  two  lives  to- 
gether were  spoken  in  public,  and  a  yet 
greater  profanation  of  sorrow,  if  the  an- 
guish of  the  heart  were  uttered  to  a  gaping 
crowd  ?  We  need  the  closed  door  for  all 
the  great  occasions  of  our  love  and  grief. 
In  all  pure  love  there  is  an  element  of 
timidity,  of  secrecy — it  is  hard  at  all  times 
to  speak  the  confession  of  our  hearts,  but 
it  is  impossible  to  do  so  except  in  secrecy. 
The  lover  seeks  some  inviolate  solitude, 
he  craves  the  quietness  of  night,  the  holy 
light  of  stars,  the  deep  silence,  secure  from 
all  intrusion,  in  which  the  very  heart-beat 
of  his  passion  may  be  heard.  Sorrow  also 
becomes  articulate  only  in  solitude.  We 
wear  a  face  of  stone  before  the  world,  we 
move  masked  among  the  crowd,  and  com- 
pose our  features  to  the  sad  hypocrisy  of 
stoicism  ;  it  is  only  when  we  are  alone  that 

[26] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

the  mask  is  thrown  aside  and  our  tears (J-f^;^ 
have  vent.  David  must  needs  go  up  to 
the  chamber  over  the  gate,  and  close  the 
door  before  he  can  let  his  lips  utter  the 
great  cry,  '^O  Absalom,  my  son,  would 
God  I  had  died  for  thee,  O  Absalom,  my 
son  !  '*  Elisha,  when  he  enters  the  room 
where  the  dead  child  lies,  shuts  the  door 
upon  them  twain  ;  he  can  neither  pray  nor 
heal  in  public.  Jesus  also,  when  He  enters 
the  chamber  where  the  hired  mourners 
wail  around  the  dead  child,  must  needs 
put  them  all  out,  before  He  can  speak  the 
word  that  recalls  the  flush  of  life  to  the 
fair  girl's  frozen  cheek.  When  the  be- 
reaved mother  goes  to  the  drawer  which 
holds  the  toys  and  ribbons  and  pitiful 
relics  of  her  vanished  child,  she  goes  alone ; 
she  moves  with  the  stealth  of  an  innocent 
conspirator ;  even  the  sound  of  a  step 
upon  the  stair  alarms  her,  so  that  she 
hurriedly  locks  the  drawer  upon  her  treas- 
ures, and  trembles  lest  another  should  spy 
upon  her  grief.  In  these,  and  many  other 
[27] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

instances,  we  see  how  much  the  closed 
door  means ;  we  see  that  it  is  the  symbol 
of  all  that  is  most  sacred  in  human  ex- 
perience and  emotion. 

But  if  for  these  occasions  of  our  com- 
mon life  we  do  need,  and  must  have,  the 
shut  door,  how  much  more  is  it  necessary 
in  the  act  of  prayer?  For  let  us  recollect 
again  what  prayer  is :  it  is  contact  with 
God.  When  we  bow  the  knee  in  prayer 
we  seek  to  speak  with  God  upon  matters 
far  deeper  than  any  that  lie  in  the  usual 
commerce  of  our  love  and  grief.  The 
things  we  dare  not  utter  into  any  human 
ear,  we  speak  to  the  Father  who  is  in 
secret — who,  shall  we  say,  is  in  our  secret  f 
The  things  we  blush  to  think  of,  the  hidden 
impurities  and  corruptions  of  our  flesh,  the 
old  concealments  of  unforgotten  evil  hours, 
the  imagined  but  unacted  sins  of  our  way- 
ward wills,  our  dallyings  with  evil,  our 
silent  capitulations  to  the  tyranny  of  habit ; 
or,  if  these  sins  be  not  ours,  though  even 
the  best  know  much  of  them,  the  silent 

[28] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

apostasies  of  the  spirit,  our  rooted  indif- 
ference to  good,  our  ready  compliance 
with  wrong,  our  many  acts  of  cowardice 
and  betrayal,  our  constant  sinkings  be- 
neath the  standard  of  our  own  ideals  of 
duty,  our  stubborn  refusals  to  realize  our 
best  selves  ;  or  it  may  be  things  that  cause 
us  even  yet  sadder  compunction,  the  mem- 
ory of  unkind  words  and  cruel  glances 
offered  to  those  long  dead,  our  hardness 
to  others,  towards  whose  sin,  so  like  our 
own,  we  showed  no  pity ;  our  obstinate, 
and  it  would  seem  incurable,  pharisaism 
of  temper  towards  the  weak  and  erring, 
our  ungraciousness  to  those  we  deem  in- 
ferior, our  neglect  of  the  poor  and  needy, 
our  foolish  pride  about  ourselves,  with  all 
its  growth  of  scorn  and  impatience  of 
others,  all  its  hardening  and  corrupting 
effect  on  our  own  natures — these  are  the 
matters  on  which  we  have  to  speak  to 
God.  These,  and  also  other  things,  more 
beautiful  to  recollect :  our  desires  for  purity, 
so  often  thwarted,  our  innocent  dreams  of 

[29] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

holy  things  which  we  have  carried  with  us 
ever  since  we  first  knelt  at  our  mother's 
knee,  our  timid,  humble  love  for  Christ 
which  the  soul  blushes  to  articulate — all 
the  softer  and  purer  yearnings  of  our  spirit, 
which  are  unknown  to  all  but  ourselves — 
these  also  we  uncover  to  the  eye  of  God. 
But  we  cannot  so  much  as  detect  these 
things  in  ourselves  except  in  the  atmos- 
phere of  secrecy.  While  we  walk  amid 
the  loud  and  sordid  things  of  life  our  true 
selves  are  hidden  from  us.  The  true  self, 
being  indeed  a  private  self,  claims  privacy 
for  its  revelation.  And  so  among  all  the 
wise  words  which  Jesus  has  uttered  about 
prayer,  there  is  none  so  elemental,  none  that 
goes  so  deep,  as  this :  When  thou  prayest^ 
enter  into  thy  closet^  and  shut  the  door. 


[30] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 


TRUE  prayer  is  thus  also  a  very 
lonely  thing :  is  not  this  also  the 
meaning  of  Jesus  ?  How  often  is 
it  said  of  the  Master  that  He  went  apart 
from  men,  that  He  was  alone,  that  immedi- 
ately after  great  manifestations  of  His  power 
or  occasions  of  popular  applause.  He  sought 
the  solitude  of  mountains,  feeling  in  Him- 
self the  need  of  self-examination,  of  the  re- 
adjustment of  His  own  soul  to  the  calls  of 
His  public  life  ?  Jesus  is  alone  in  the  wil- 
derness, alone  in  the  midnight  silence  of 
Olivet,  alone  in  Gethsemane,  alone  on  the  -^ 

Cross.     Jesus  found  that  He  could  realize  % 
Himself  only  in  solitude. 

But  one  of  the  fatal  features  of  our  habit- 
ual life  is  that  many  of  us  are  never  alone, 
and  never  seek  to  be  alone.  There  are 
many  men  and  women  who  condemn  them- 
selves to  an  almost  total  absence  from 
themselves.  Knock  at  the  heart's  door 
when  you  will,  there  is  no  one  at  home. 

[31] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

Nay,  more ;  many  people  almost  fear  to  be 
alone.  Solitude  of  any  kind  oppresses 
them,  makes  them  uneasy,  terrifies  them ; 
the  dying  away  of  friendly  voices  and 
familiar  footsteps  in  the  distance  leaves 
them  miserable. 

I  have  for  years  tried  to  teach  people, 
and  especially  busy  people  whose  lives  are 
passed  in  cities,  that  it  is  necessary  even 
for  their  mental  health  that  when  they  go 
for  holidays  they  should  seek  not  the 
thronged  resorts  of  fashionable  pleasure, 
but  the  ''  haunts  of  ancient  peace  "  ;  some 
place  of  still  waters  and  green  pastures, 
where  they  might  learn  the  healing  and 
sanative  delights  of  solitude.  For  myself, 
I  have  never  failed  through  all  the  years 
of  a  laborious  life  to  spend  some  weeks  of 
each  year  in  places  quite  remote  from  men^ 
where  I  could  know 

The  silence  that  is  in  the  starry  sky, 
The  sleep  that  is  among  the  lonely  hills. 

Nor,  in  all  these  years,  has  any  day  come 
to  me  when  I  have  not  had  some  hours  of 

[  32  ] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

perfect  solitude,  for  without  such  hours  I 
could  not  live.  These  are  the  hours  of  all 
true  intellectual  and  spiritual  growth. 

Have  you  ever  watched  the  growth  of 
wheat  in  spring-time?  If  you  have,  you 
will  have  observed  that  it  grows  fastest  in 
the  night.  All  the  violent  light  of  quicken- 
ing suns,  all  the  rapid,  tumultuous  passage 
of  spring  winds,  does  less  for  the  growth 
of  the  green  blade  than  a  single  night  of 
quiet  star-shine,  soft  dew,  and  fruitful 
silence.  The  human  soul,  which  Christ 
Himself  once  likened  to  the  wheat  that 
falls  into  the  ground,  also  grows  best  in 
the  hushed  hours  of  solitude.  It  seems  to 
me  nothing  less  than  tragic  that  so  many 
men  and  women  do  not  understand  this 
law,  and  even  hold  it  in  derision.  They 
lavish  praise  upon  the  strenuous  life,  for- 
getting that  the  root  of  every  truly  stren- 
uous life  is  solitude  They  pride  them- 
selves on  the  variety  and  multiplicity  of 
their  activities,  living  lives  of  perpetual 
agitation,  in  which  they  take  a  foolish 
[33] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

pride,  and  not  perceiving  that  all  that  is 
finest  in  themselves  is  ruined  by  this  vain 
expenditure  of  energy.  Never  quiet  enough 
to  hear  the  still  small  voice  of  God, 
y  never  at  home  in  their  own  souls  to  catch 
the  gentle  knocking  of  the  Divine  Guest 
upon  the  door,  never  -  truly  aware  of  their 
own  real  selves — O,  how  pitiful  a  misin- 
terpretation of  life  is  this,  how  gross  a  mis- 
handling of  their  own  natures !  What 
wonder  that  such  a  life  is  barren  of  both 
high  thoughts  and  deep  emotions ;  that  it 
tends  more  and  more  to  spend  itself  on 
trivialities,  becoming  at  last  superficial  in 
its  perceptions,  artificial  in  its  method,  and 
ignorant  of  all  those  elements,  or  nearly 
all,  which  have  made  life  worth  living  to 
the  wise  and  great-natured  men  and  women 
of  all  the  generations. 

Professor  Edward  Everett  Hale,  in  the 
most  interesting  account  which  he  has 
published  of  his  conversion  during  the  mis- 
sion which  I  held  at  Schenectady  in  Novem- 
ber, 1905,  has  given  an  explicit  statement 
[34] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

of  the  part  that  prayer  played  in  his  ex- 
perience. I  began  my  mission  with  an  ad- 
dress on  prayer,  recommending  my  hear- 
ers to  seek  during  the  day  one  hour  of  per- 
fect solitude,  in  which  they  might  make 
for  themselves  *'  the  experiment  of  prayer." 
This  counsel  Professor  Hale  acted  upon 
with  memorable  results  to  himself.  He 
continued  the  experiment,  not  for  a  single 
hour,  but  throughout  the  week,  and  as  he 
did  so,  he  began  to  realize  himself,  and  his 
real  needs.  ''As  the  week  went  on,"  he 
writes,  "I  began  to  be  conscious  of  a 
curious  change  in  myself,  which  I  did  not 
and  do  not  now  explain.  My  pleasure  in 
the  many  interests  which  made  up  my  Hfe 
began  to  diminish  and  become  dull.  In- 
stead of  desiring  to  finish  up  the  duties  of 
life  to  turn  to  its  pleasures,  I  found  that  for 
the  time  its  pleasures  had  little  interest. 
Art,  literature,  scholarship,  the  theatre,  the 
various  things  that  had  filled  my  mind,  as 
well  as  some  others  which  I  need  not  par-  ^ 
ticularize,  lost  attraction.  Further  even, 
[35] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

plans,  possibilities,  ambitions  of  one  sort 
and  another,  of  which  I  had  a  number  in 
hand,  no  longer  interested  me.  ...  I 
noticed  this  loss  of  interest,  and  entirely 
without  regret.  The  attraction  of  nature 
held  on  longer  than  the  rest.  I  remember 
one  morning  looking  out  of  the  window  at 
a  row  of  elms  which  I  had  for  years  looked 
at  with  delight  while  dressing,  taking  par- 
ticular pleasure  in  their  change  of  aspect 
with  the  changing  year.  I  said  to  myself, 
quite  consciously, '  I  wonder  if  that  is  going 
too,'  and  before  I  had  finished  the  sentence 
I  was  aware  that  love  of  nature  had  gone 
with  the  rest.  ...  I  felt  no  especial 
lack,  however;  I  believe  I  was  conscious 
of  a  greater  interest."  The  end  of  the  ex- 
periment came  when  Professor  Hale  knew 
that  all  these  things  had  passed  out  of  his 
life,  to  make  way  for  the  entrance  of  Christ. 
There  was  left  to  him  **  Jesus  only."  And 
his  final  summary  is,  "  By  my  personal  ex- 
perience I  can  say  that  the  way  to  the  Cross 
is  through  prayer.'' 

[36] 


T*he    Forgotten    Secret 

No  one  can  miss  the  essential  point  in 
this  confession  ;  it  is  the  realization  of  self 
which  comes  through  solitary  prayer.  For 
the  plain  fact  is  that  we  do  not  and  can- 
not know  ourselves,  nor  our  real  wants, 
till  we  are  alone.  We  think  we  want 
money,  fame,  applause,  social  esteem,  and 
a  number  of  similar  things,  because  we 
choose  to  live  in  the  environment  where 
these  things  count  for  much  ;  but  it  is  pure 
illusion ;  we  do  not  really  want  them  be- 
cause we  do  not  really  need  them.  Our 
real  needs  go  much  deeper ;  what  we  need 
most  is  peace,  internal  harmony,  restful- 
ness  of  spirit,  equipoise  of  soul — all  that 
Christ  meant  by  conscious  participation  in 
the  kingdom  of  God  and  His  righteous- 
ness. The  most  common  experience  in 
all  true  conversion  is  a  certain  change  of 
values.  The  things  that  were  much  to  us 
become  little ;  the  things  of  which  we  had 
rarely  thought  become  of  supreme  impor- 
tance. Just  as  the  seismic  wave,  passing 
across  a  landscape,  levels  the  mountain  and 


\ 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

exalts  the  valley,  so  we  become  conscious 
of  a  changed  landscape  of  life,  in  which 
are  strange  depressions  and  new  eleva- 
tions, so  that  the  things  which  were  gain 
to  us  become  loss.  Thus  Professor  Hale 
finds  art,  scholarship,  literature,  and  lastly 
the  love  of  Nature,  losing  their  attraction ; 
they  melt  out  of  his  life  because  his  life 
has  submitted  itself  to  a  higher  law  of 
gravitation.  It  is  not  that  these  things 
are  valueless ;  it  is  simply  that  we  have 
given  them  an  exaggerated  value,  and 
( they  now  sink  into  their  true  proportions. 
When  a  friend  of  Newman's  expressed 
wonder  that  he  should  have  cast  away  all 
the  brilliant  prizes  of  life  in  his  renuncia- 
tion of  the  Anglican  Church,  the  instant  re- 
tort was,  '*  It  is  not  difficult.  One  glimpse 
of  eternity  makes  everything  else  look  triv-  /^  \ 
ial."  And  it  is  just  this  glimpse  of  eter- 
nity which  we  gain  in  the  loneliness  of 
prayer ;  we  see  the  greater  things  of  life, 
and  the  lesser  things  sink  out  of  sight.  ^ 
Make  the  experiment  of  prayer,  then; 

[38] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

submit  yourself  to  the  discipline  of  lone- 
liness :  when  thou  prayest,  enter  into  thy 
closet  and  shut  the  door,  I  can  conceive 
no  more  wholesome  discipline  for  the  ener- 
getic man  or  woman  than  this  deliberate 
encounter  with  the  spirit  of  solitude.  Mark 
off  some  hour,  or  some  half  hour,  of  each 
busy  day  as  your  own,  dedicated  solely  to 
the  private  occasions  of  the  spirit.  For 
that  brief  period  hold  the  world  at  bay ; 
go  to  your  room  as  to  a  shrine ;  take  no 
book  with  you,  no  humblest  task — simply 
sit  still,  or  kneel  down,  and  explore  your 
own  heart.  Celebrate  the  sacrament  of 
silence ;  it  will  bring  with  it  on  the  hands 
of  viewless  priests  a  meat  that  the  world 
knows  not  of,  and  it  will  make  audible  to 
you  the  still  small  voice  of  God  that  speaks 
to  us  only  when  we  are  very  still.  One 
such  hour,  rightly  used,  will  teach  you 
more  of  God,  and  truth,  and  duty  than  all 
the  sages  can.  It  will  remain  with  you  as 
a  consecration  and  an  impulse  when  you 
take  up  again  the  vexing  tasks  of  life. 
[39] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

You  will  be  stronger  for  it,  more  composed 
in  mind,  more  certain  in  aim,  sweeter  and 
more  patient  in  temper,  and  as  you  walk 
the  thronged  roads  of  life  once  more,  you 
will  bring  perfume  and  purification  in  your 
very  presence.  Let  your  household,  and 
your  children,  and  your  friends  know  that 
you  keep  a  Lonely  Hour  for  God  in  every 
day,  when  no  interruption  is  permitted ; 
when  even  Love  must  stand  without  the 
door  and  wait ;  for  that  hour  is  sacred  to 
a  higher  Love,  and  devoted  to  a  more  en- 
during vision.  '*  I  saw  a  Door  opened  into 
heaven,"  said  the  Apocalyptic  Dreamer ; 
be  sure  of  it  that  Door  of  Things  Unseen  is 
j  only  opened  when  the  doors  of  earth  are  shut. 


[40] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

VI 

PRAYER  is  thus  a  very  intense  thing, 
and  this  is  the  third  law  of  prayer 
which  we  find  in  these  words  of 
Jesus.  The  closed  door,  the  secret  place, 
the  thrilling  silence — do  not  all  these  sug- 
gest intensity — the  concentration  of  heart 
and  will  in  a  definite  effort  of  expression  ? 
JsN^  cannot  pray  with  a  divided  mind.  Our 
outward  life  involves  a  certain  dispersal  of 
power ;  in  prayer  we  re-collect  ourselves. 
We  have  to  call  back  the  wandering  thought, 
to  put  restraint  upon  the  fugitive  desire,  to 
retire  from  the  alluring  superficies  of  life, 
and  find  the  centre.  Prayer  is  not  a  pas- 
sive but  an  active  state  ;  we  ask^  we  seeky 
we  knock — it  is  so  that  Jesus  speaks.  Jesus 
Himself  prayed,  "  being  in  an  agony " — 
and  the  reason  why  so  many  of  us  find 
prayer  difficult  or  vain  is  because  there  is 
no  agony  in  our  praying.  We  say  our 
prayers,  we  use  some  private  liturgy  of 
our  own  in  which  the  same  phrases  con- 

[41] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

tinually  occur,  but  the  cry  of  the  passion- 
ate heart  which  brings  the  sweat  of  blood 
to  the  brow  is  not  ours.  For  we  may  be 
sincere  without  being  earnest,  and  earnest 
without  being  passionate,  and  passionate 
without  being  agonized;  yet  only  when 
we  reach  the  ultimate  of  prayer  in  agony 
of  spirit  do  we  find  its  divinest  efficacy. 
Only  then  does  the  Strengthening  Angel 
visit  us. 

In  one  of  those  strange  transcripts  of  hu- 
man experience  which  Professor  James  has 
included  in  his  Gifford  Lectures,  we  have 
a  striking  account  of  what  this  agony  of 
prayer  means. 

"  I  fell  on  my  face  before  the  bench,  and 
tried  to  pray,  and  every  time  I  would  call 
on  God,  something  like  a  man's  hand 
would  strangle  me  by  choking.  I  thought 
I  should  surely  die  if  I  did  not  get  help, 
but  just  as  often  as  I  would  pray,  that  un- 
seen hand  was  felt  at  my  throat.  I  made 
one  final  struggle  to  call  on  God  with  chok- 
ing and  strangling,  and  behold,  floods  of 

[42] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

light  and  glory  passed  through  my  soul, 
and  everything  became  new." 

With  choking  and  strangling  :  does  the 
phrase  seem  extravagant,  unnatural,  out  of 
relation  with  our  sober  experience?  Yet 
there  are  those  who  have  known  what  it 
means.  Jacob  knew,  when  he  went  out 
into  the  dim  night  full  of  satisfied  craft  and 
confident  of  success,  to  find  a  viewless  an- 
tagonist who  closed  with  him  beside  the 
brook,  who  seized  him  with  a  clutch  of 
steel,  and  wrestled  with  him  for  his  life. 
Paul  knew,  when  he  prayed  thrice,  with 
what  anguish  who  can  measure,  that  the 
thorn  in  the  flesh  might  depart  from  him. 
The  kingdom  of  heaven  suffereth  violence, 
and  violence  is  needed  for  its  conquest,  be- 
cause never  are  the  powers  of  darkness  so 
hostile  to  us  as  when  we  pray.  Without 
metaphor,  and  in  sober  truth,  an  unseen 
hand,  nay  a  thousand  unseen  hands,  are  at 
our  throats  when  we  pray,  to  choke  the 
prayer  out  of  us.  For  prayer  is  not  only  a 
shrine,  but  an  arena.  God  becomes,  as  it 
[43  J 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

were,  our  friendly  antagonist,  refusing  Him- 
self to  us  for  our  own  sakes,  that  His  re- 
fusal may  quicken  our  desire  for  Him.  He 
contests  our  will  that  our  will  may  grow 
strong  through  contest,  until  at  last  we 
prevail.  For  this  is  the  key-note  of  Jacob's 
great  experience  beside  the  brook — he  pre- 
vailed. He  rose  lamed,  but  victorious. 
The  mark  of  the  contest  was  upon  the  flesh 
in  the  shrunken  thigh,  as  it  was  upon  Jesus 
in  the  sweat  of  blood,  but  the  spirit  rose  up 
vindicated.  This  is  He  who  came  not  by 
water  alone,  but  by  blood.  The  hand  upon 
the  throat  is  at  last  withdrawn,  and  behold 
the  day  breaks,  the  new  name  and  the  new 
nature  are  won,  the  peace  of  God  rests 
upon  the  garden,  and  '*  floods  of  light  and 
glory  "  pour  through  the  triumphant  soul, 
making  all  things  new. 

The  reader  of  these  words  may  justly  ask 
the  writer  if  he  himself  prays  thus  ?  As- 
suredly not  always,  for  that  would  exceed 
the  capacity  of  the  human.  But  just  as 
there  are  exceptional  and  radiant  hours  of 
[44] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

human  love,  which  give  the  measure  of  its 
depth,  so  there  are  episodes  of  prayer, 
which  set  the  standard  of  its  meaning.  Out 
of  the  past  years  such  hours  return  upon 
me  ;  times  when  my  back  was  to  the  wall ; 
when  I  was  beaten  down  into  the  dust  and 
earthly  hopes  lay  ruined  ;  when  all  my 
life  hung  tremulous  above  the  sick-bed  of  a 
little  child  ;  when  another  life,  dearer  than 
my  own,  trembled  in  the  balance,  and  the 
shadow  of  death  lay  upon  my  house,  and  in 
the  midnight  silence  I  could  almost  hear  the 
beating  of  the  black  wing  of  the  Destroying 
Angel — and  then  I  prayed,  ''being  in  an 
agony."  Then  I  prayed,  and  knew  myself 
mystically  consoled,  as  though  God  took  my 
bruised  life  to  His  bosom,  and  I  rejoiced  to 

feel  God's  greatness 
"^  Flow  round  my  incompleteness^ 
Round  my  restlessness  His  rest. 

To  have  prayed  thus,  and  prevailed  thus, 
though  it  be  but  once  in  many  years,  is  to 
believe  in  prayer  forevermore.  Earth  and 
heaven  may  pass  away,  but  surer  than  the 
stars,  brighter  than  the  sun,  shines  that 
[45] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

hour  with  its  unchanging  testimony.  For 
just  as  you  must  measure  love  not  by  its 
sober  average  of  emotion,  but  by  its  highest 
tide-mark,  by  its  supreme  hour,  if  you 
would  measure  it  aright,  so  prayer  must  be 
measured  by  the  occasion  when  it  has 
meant  most  to  us.  Never  again  does 
Jacob  wrestle  with  the  Angel  of  The  Crisis, 
nor  stand  beside  the  stream  which  marks 
the  great  division  of  his  life,  but  all  his 
life  he  "  goes  the  softlier  "  for  that  hour's 
sake ;  never  again,  it  may  be,  will  it  be 
ours  to  pluck  the  life  beloved  from  the  cold 
grip  of  death,  but  the  memory  of  our 
Gethsemane  abides  with  us  as  an  element 
of  faith  and  strength  forever.  Once,  if  it 
be  only  once  in  many  years,  to  have  found 
our  God  in  prayer,  is  to  derive  courage  for 
a  lifetime  ;  and  in  those  duller  hours,  when 
prayer  seems  vain  to  us,  this  Supreme 
Hour  comes  back  to  us,  like  a  prophet 
with  the  aureole  of  conquest  on  his  brow, 
like  an  angel  with  the  cup  of  strengthening 
wine  for  our  faintness  and  fatigue. 

[46] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 


VII 

THE  great  episodes  of  prayer  come 
rarely ;  but  nevertheless  the  habit 
of  prayer  should  be  normal.  It 
should  be  as  natural  a  thing  for  the  soul  to 
talk  with  God  as  for  the  child  to  utter  with- 
out restraint  his  expressions  of  affection,  his 
curious  enquiries,  or  his  little  troubles,  into 
the  ear  of  his  parent.  There  are  households 
where  the  law  of  restraint  or  etiquette  is  so 
strict  that  children  grow  up  in  an  atmosphere 
of  repression,  never  displaying  their  real 
selves  or  uttering  their  real  emotions.  But  in 
the  true  household  such  restraint  is  unknown. 
The  child  is  encouraged  to  be  natural,  to 
speak  wisely  or  foolishly  as  he  will,  being 
sure  of  loving  comprehension.  In  all  true 
intimacy  there  must  be  room  for  foolish- 
ness ;  indeed  how  much  of  all  true  love 
consists,  so  far  as  its  intercourse  is  con- 
cerned, in  the  utterance  of  what  the  world 
would  call  foolish  nothings,  the  implicit  un- 
[47] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

derstanding  being  that  it  is  wiser  to  be 
frank  and  foolish,  than  correctly  proper  and 
not  frank  in  the  exhibition  of  our  feelings. 
Perfect  frankness  is  the  root  of  all  inti- 
macy, the  sense  that  we  need  practice  in 
the  presences  we  love  none  of  that  social 
deceit  to  which  we  instinctively  resort  when 
we  move  among  strangers.  And  in  the 
household  built  on  love  there  is  always, 
too,  the  element  of  secrecy.  There  are 
things  known  to  its  members  that  no  one 
else  knows,  the  little  secrets  of  the  child, 
the  ribbon  in  the  drawer  that  chronicles  the 
girl's  first  foolish  love,  the  schoolboy  letter 
with  its  stain  of  tears ;  things  slight  in 
themselves,  occasions  of  laughter  or  brief 
sorrow,  the  little  petulancies  of  a  child's 
temper,  the  difficult  confessions  of  a  child's 
regret,  the  merry  jests  of  happy  hours; 
and  the  very  essence  of  household  inter- 
course is  that  these  things  make  a  bond  of 
secret  knowledge,  something  which  lies 
behind  all  words,  and  colours  all  words, 
and  exists  for  us  alone.     God's  Household 

[48] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

is  such  a  household — ihy  Father  in  heaven. 
He  encourages  us  to  speak  freely  to  Him 
in  prayer :  *'  in  everything  by  prayer  and 
supplication  make  your  requests  known 
unto  God."  He  would  rather  that  we 
spoke  foolishly  to  Him,  than  that  we  framed 
our  lips  to  the  false  rectitude  of  conceal- 
ment and  reticence,  for  such  reticence  be- 
tokens lack  of  love  and  confidence.  Don't 
pretend  to  God — there  is  no  need — He 
knows  everything.  He  asks  only  that  you 
shall  be  natural,  and  He  is  better  pleased 
with  the  most  foolish  thing  you  may  say 
to  Him  in  perfect  trustfulness,  than  the 
most  proper  thing  that  really  covers  your 
distrust  of  Him.  Bring  Him  smiles  as  well 
as  tears ;  make  Him  so  dear  an  intimate 
that  your  natural  self  moves  with  perfect 
freedom  in  His  presence. 

For,  in  its  last  analysis,  prayer  is  inti- 
macy with  God  ;  it  is  the  child's  unembar- 
rassed conversation  with  his  Father. 


[49] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 


VIII 

AND  now  let  me  return  to  the  title  of 
this  little  book,  and  ask  why  it  is 
that  prayer  has  become  a  Forgot- 
ten Secret?  In  one  sense,  of  course,  it  is  not 
forgotten ;  there  are  multitudes  who  know 
the  secret,  and  perhaps  far  more  than  we 
suppose.  But  in  two  directions  it  is  very 
evident  that  prayer  has  been  forgotten,  and 
the  first  of  these  is  seen  in  the  general  organ- 
ization of  the  church.  Let  any  one  be  at 
pains  to  study  the  hand-book  of  any  ener- 
getic church,  and  he  will  be  at  once  aware 
of  the  small  part  which  prayer  plays  in  its 
scheme  of  life.  For  he  will  discover  numer- 
ous records  of  clubs,  and  societies,  and  as- 
sociations, ministering  to  the  intellectual  or 
social  needs  of  the  congregation,  or  serv- 
ing as  the  vehicles  of  its  benevolence,  but 
he  will  often  find  no  meeting  that  exists 
for  prayer  and  prayer  alone.  Even  in  the 
common  system  of  our  public  worship 
[50] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

prayer  has  but  a  subordinate  place.  The 
actual  time  allotted  to  music  often  exceeds 
that  allotted  to  prayer,  and  in  most  forms 
of  Protestant  worship  the  sermon  is  the  one 
attraction.  Yet  there  can  be  little  doubt 
that  in  the  earliest  forms  of  Christian  or- 
ganization prayer  occupied  the  chief  place. 
Such  instruction  as  was  given  was  brief 
and  informal.  On  the  rare  occasion  of  an 
apostolic  visit  there  was  the  deliberate  ex- 
position of  Christian  truth,  but  the  ordi- 
nary meeting  of  the  people  was  for  prayer 
and  mutual  encouragement.  Cannot  we 
revive  the  ancient  practice  ?  Would  it  not 
be  an  experiment  worth  making  for  some 
great  church  to  discontinue  for  a  whole 
month  all  its  settled  forms  of  worship,  and 
invite  its  people  to  gather  for  the  sole  ex- 
ercise of  prayer  ? 

We  have  seen  for  ourselves  what  has 
happened  in  Wales.  The  greatest  revival 
in  our  generation,  in  the  course  of  which 
eighty  thousand  people  have  publicly  con- 
fessed Christ,  has  found  its  sole  dynamic 

[51] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

in  prayer.  There  has  been  little  preach- 
ing, neither  elaborate  music  nor  eloquent 
appeals,  and  no  organization  of  effort,  but 
there  has  been  abundant  praying.  In  one 
instance  known  to  me,  a  simple  farmer  and 
his  wife  unlocked  the  door  of  a  humble 
chapel  on  a  lonely  hillside,  and  themselves 
began  to  pray  for  their  neighbours  by 
name,  until  in  one  fortnight,  drawn  by  an 
invisible  compulsion,  more  than  fifty  per- 
sons so  prayed  for  came  to  this  unadver- 
tised  meeting,  and  yielded  themselves  to 
Christ.  And  this  story  is  typical  of  the 
whole  Welsh  revival,  which  may  be  justly 
described  as  a  rediscovery  of  the  dynamic 
efficacy  of  prayer.  So  then  the  secret  is 
not  only  open  but  thoroughly  attested. 
Nothing  proved  by  science  is  more  plainly 
verified  than  that  prayer  is  the  supreme 
dynamic  of  the  church.  Is  not  the  deduc- 
tion obvious,  that  when  the  church  returns 
to  the  practice  of  prayer,  as  the  supreme 
expression  of  its  life,  it  will  at  once  redis- 
cover the  secret  of  conquest,  which  is  often 
[5^j 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

conspicuously  absent  in  the  best  organized 
revival  ?  We  cannot  really  organize  a  re- 
vival, but  we  can  organize  ourselves. 

As  it  has  been  with  the  church,  so  it  has 
been  with  the  individual  Christian.  He 
has  beenrepleted  with  instruction,  preached 
to  so  long  and  so  often  that  he  has  become 
sermon-saturated,  spurred  to  all  sorts  of 
semi-secular  activities  under  the  sanction 
of  the  church,  but  the  one  thing  he  has  not 
been  taught  to  do  is  to  pray.  He  has 
learned  all  about  the  publicities  of  religion, 
but  nothing  of  its  secrecies.  Sometimes  in 
the  desert  I  have  come  upon  an  empty 
spoliated  temple,  open  to  the  four  winds 
of  heaven,  through  whose  broken  door  the 
desert  sand  has  drifted.  No  Vandal  has 
been  there,  indeed,  to  overturn  the  altar, 
or  inscribe  his  sacrilegious  scorn  upon  the 
walls  ;  but  equally  pitiful  to  me  has  seemed 
the  drifted  sand,  the  broken  door,  the  silent 
long  advance  of  the  outward  world  into 
the  shrine  built  for  privacy.  So,  in  the 
hearts  of  many  good  men,  though  no  open 
i  53] 


"The    Forgotten    Secret 

desecration  is  discoverable,  no  stain  of  pol- 
luting orgies  or  ruin  wrought  by  evil  flame, 
yet  there  is  the  drift  of  worldliness,  and  of 
worldliness  that  takes  a  half  religious  form. 
We  have  to  guard  against  the  desert  sand 
as  well  as  the  Vandal — it  may  prove  more 
fatal.  We  have  to  beware  of  the  spurious 
zeal  which  makes  a  business  of  the  church, 
and  invites  the  world  to  occupy  the  temple 
in  the  name  of  Christ.  There  is  a  kind  of 
man,  all  too  common  in  the  church,  who, 
in  contributing  to  it  his  skilled  business  ef- 
ficiency, which  no  doubt  is  needed,  grad- 
ually comes  to  think,  and  makes  others 
think,  that  the  church  itself  is  a  kind  of 
business.  He  can  be  cogent  and  con- 
vincing in  a  question  of  finance,  but  who 
ever  heard  him  pray  ?  He  will  manifest  a 
splendid  diligence  on  questions  of  secular 
detail,  but  who  does  not  feel  that  the  spir- 
itual wave  that  thrills  and  softens  many 
humbler  hearts  breaks  on  him  in  vain? 
So  that  with  all  his  utilities,  such  a  man  is 
rather  a  hindrance  to  the  church  than  a 
[54] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

help ;  and  his  heart,  long  ignorant  of  the 
privacies  of  prayer,  is  drifted  up  with  the 
dust  and  grit  of  the  market-place.  It  is 
this  man,  of  all  men,  who  needs  to  be  re- 
deemed, both  for  the  sake  of  his  own  good 
qualities,  and  the  real  value  of  those  quali- 
ties to  the  church.  And  the  redemption 
will  only  come  by  the  reinstatement  of 
prayer  in  his  life,  by  its  discovery,  or  redis- 
covery. 

It  is  the  secularization  of  the  church 
which  is  the  real  source  of  all  its  barren- 
ness, its  ineptitude,  its  failure  to  attract 
men  and  mould  society.  For  ordinary 
men,  whatever  we  may  say,  and  say  truly, 
about  the  willful  materialism  of  their  lives, 
nevertheless  have  enough  of  right  instinct 
to  recognize  the  church  as  the  one  supreme 
spiritual  force  upon  the  earth,  spiritual  by 
origin,  by  history,  and  by  profession  ;  and 
when  they  see  a  spiritual  institution  will- 
fully exchanging  spiritual  for  secular  meth- 
ods of  success,  they  naturally  regard  it 
with  aversion  or  contempt.  The  ordinary 
[55] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

man,  also,  if  he  be  fairly  educated,  knows 
enough  of  the  Gospels  to  be  perfectly  aware 
that  the  modern  church  in  no  way  resem- 
bles that  company  of  wise  and  simple  souls 
whom  Jesus  gathered  round  Him  in  His 
earthly  ministry.  It  is  clear  enough  to  the 
reader  of  the  Gospels  that  Jesus  founded 
no  church  in  our  sense  of  the  term ;  He 
was  content  to  gather  round  Him  men  and 
women  of  humble  lives,  whose  sense  of  the 
unseen  was  so  strong  that  they  passed 
their  time  in  prayer  and  good  works, 
scorned  riches  and  felt  no  shame  in  pov- 
erty, had  neither  a  formal  creed  nor  a  bind- 
ing scheme  of  worship,  and  were  so  sure 
of  the  spiritual  efficacy  which  dwelt  in  their 
Master's  word  and  example  that  they  did 
not  think  it  worth  their  while  to  use  the 
wisdom  of  the  world  to  make  His  kingdom 
known.  Is  it  because  we  have  no  longer 
any  real  faith  in  this  efficacy  of  the  Mas- 
ter's word  and  example,  that  we  have  dis- 
carded our  spiritual  weapons  for  temporal 
ones,  made  it  evident  that  the  things  upon 
[56] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

which  we  rely  for  success  are  not  faith  and 
prayer,  not  the  compulsion  of  truth  and 
love,  but  rather  such  attractions  as  may  lie 
in  human  eloquence,  elaborate  music,  the 
solicitations  of  social  advantage,  and  other 
things  which  are  as  indubitable  products 
of  wealth  as  the  mansion  of  the  millionaire 
and  the  fastidious  elaboration  of  his  luxury  ? 
The  shrewd  observer  is  not  slow  to  draw 
this  conclusion.  The  contrast  between  the 
methods  of  Jesus  and  the  methods  of  the 
modern  church  is  too  glaring  to  be  missed. 
The  motto  of  Jesus  is,  '*  My  kingdom  is  not 
of  this  world  "  ;  the  motto  of  His  church 
to-day  appears  to  be,  "  My  kingdom  is  the 
kingdom  of  this  world,  and  my  methods 
are  the  methods  of  the  world,  for  in  no 
other  have  I  any  confidence." 

Even  though  it  be  granted  that,  by  mere 
pressure  of  self-preservation,  the  original 
and  simple  society  of  Jesus  was  bound  to 
organize  itself,  yet  there  is  no  reason  why 
its  primal  elements  should  have  perished 
in  the  process.  Nor  have  they  ever  per- 
[57] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

ished  wholly,  for  after  all  there  is  a  cer- 
tain indestructible  spiritual  element  in  the 
church.  That  element,  like  a  smothered 
fire,  has  continually  sprung  up  in  vital 
flame,  in  the  unlikeliest  ways  and  places ; 
in  the  heart  of  a  Francis  of  Assisi,  in  the 
zeal  of  the  Lollards,  in  the  enthusiasm  of 
Wesley,  in  the  tender  passion  of  a  Cath- 
erine of  Siena,  and  a  Catherine  Booth. 
And  therein  lies  our  lesson  ;  for  whenever 
and  wherever  the  spiritual  element  has 
regained  ascendancy  in  the  church,  it  has 
been  the  signal  of  immediate  conquest. 
Men  do  not  really  desire  the  meretricious 
substitutes  we  offer  them  in  the  name  of 
Christ;  neither  the  ritual  splendour,  nor 
the  seduction  of  art  and  music,  nor  the 
attractions  of  the  social  club ;  to  the  man 
spiritually  hungry,  as  most  men  are,  these 
things  are  the  bitter  gift  of  stones  instead 
of  bread.  But  the  hungry  man  comes 
where  the  bread  is,  and  the  frozen  man 
where  the  fire  is.  It  is  little  after  all  that 
the  world  asks  of  us  ;  it  is  simply  that  we 

[58] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

shall  give  that  which  it  is  in  our  power  to 
give,  the  impulse  to  man's  latent  spiritu- 
ality ;  that  we  should  show  ourselves  pos- 
sessed of  that  which  we  boast  is  our  sole 
prerogative,  the  spiritual  dynamic  which  re- 
deems the  soul.  To  whomsoever  this  secret 
of  the  soul's  dynamic  is  known  men  will 
gather,  and  in  the  long  run  they  will 
gather  to  no  one  else.  Let  the  church 
return  to  the  life  of  prayer,  and  give  proof 
that  she  is  willing  to  trust  to  spiritual 
means  alone  for  her  success,  and  in  the 
same  hour  the  era  of  enduring  conquest 
will  begin. 

If  I  venture  thus  to  speak  strongly  of 
the  main  defect  in  modern  Christianity,  it 
is  not  in  any  spirit  of  censoriousness,  and 
still  less  of  superiority ;  I  do  but  record  a 
conclusion  forced  upon  me  by  experience 
and  observation.  I  am  the  friend  and 
advocate  of  all  that  goes  by  the  name  of 
"  the  institutional  church."  It  has  always 
been  my  aim  to  build  up  around  the  church 
every  sort  of  society  and  organization  which 
[59] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

can  serve  the  social  needs  of  the  people, 
conserve  their  physical  well-being,  direct 
and  stimulate  their  intellectual  life,  and 
thus  fulfill  the  wide  conception  of  a  Chris- 
tian manhood.  But  I  have  learned  by  dis- 
illusion and  disappointment  how  little  the 
most  excellent  series  of  institutions  associ- 
ated with  a  church  may  help  its  spiritual 
life ;  how  apt  they  are  to  become  secular 
in  temper,  with  but  the  faintest  and  most 
fugitive  relation  to  the  things  of  the  soul ; 
and,  what  is  much  m-ore  disastrous,  how 
often  they  usurp  the  function  of  the  spirit- 
ual or  tend  towards  its  suppression.  When 
this  happens  they  become  a  menace  to  the 
church  rather  than  a  source  of  strength. 
The  superficies  is  extended,  but  the  centre 
suffers.  The  emphasis  of  life  is  put  upon 
things  outward  instead  of  things  inward. 
And  what  shall  compensate  us  if  the  shrine 
and  the  altar  are  neglected  ?  How  can  we 
justify  our  existence  if  we  offer  men  noth- 
ing more  than  they  can  obtain  without  our 
aid  from  many  other  sources,  and  with- 
[60] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

hold  from  them  that  very  bread  of  hfe 
which  Christ  has  entrusted  to  our  custody  ? 
They  who  drink  of  the  water  of  a  secular- 
ized Christianity  indeed  thirst  again ;  only 
from  the  spiritual  Rock  flows  that  water 
of  which,  when  a  man  drinks,  he  thirsts  no 
more. 

Could  we  gather  a  consensus  of  confes- 
sion from  those  whose  words  are  best  worth 
heeding  in  all  the  churches,  it  would  be 
the  barrenness  of  definite  result  which 
would  make  that  confession  significant. 
With  all  our  eager  toil,  all  our  organized 
efficiency,  all  our  efforts  to  attract,  how 
scanty  the  result,  how  incommensurable 
the  harvest  with  the  sowing !  Is  it  possi- 
ble that  we  do  not  perceive  the  real  cause 
of  our  misfortune  and  defeat?  For  that 
cause  is  lucid  to  all  but  ourselves ;  barren- 
ness of  spiritual  result  is  the  punishment  of 
prayerlessness  ;  it  is  its  appointed  Nemesis. 
I  remember  once,  when  visiting  at  a  coun- 
try house  in  the  hottest  period  of  the  year, 
being  surprised  by  the  perfume  of  flowers 
[6i] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

that  filled  my  bedroom  in  the  early  morn- 
ing, until  rising  almost  with  the  sun  one 
morning,  I  discovered  the  reason.  It  was 
a  very  simple  reason,  nothing  more  than 
this,  that  with  the  first  light  the  gardener 
was  busy  watering  the  flowers  beneath  my 
window,  and  from  those  watered  flowers 
came  the  fragrance  that  filled  my  room 
with  sweetness.  There  are  lives  also,  that, 
exposed  to  the  hottest  sun  of  daily  toil, 
possess  the  secret  of  freshness  and  perfume 
and  are  unwithered,  because  they  are  kept 
watered  with  the  living  water  that  flows 
from  the  throne  of  God  and  of  the  Lamb. 
"He  maketh  me  to  lie  down  in  green  pas- 
tures, and  beside  still  waters."  Prayer  is 
the  soul's  pasture  and  the  soul's  dew,  and 
he  who  prays  much  is  as  '*  a  tree  planted 
by  the  rivers  of  water,  whose  leaf  shall  not 
wither." 

It  was  because  Jesus  dwelt  thus  in  the 
secret  places  of  prayer  that  His  life  pos- 
sessed that  freshness  of  spiritual  grace 
which  time  has  not  withered,  and  that  re- 

[62] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

pose  and  infinite  tranquillity,  the  very  con- 
templation of  which  overcomes  our  souls 
with  wonder.  It  is  in  the  renewed  and 
deeper  study  of  that  life  ;  in  the  hours  of 
loneliness  and  separation  when,  in  the  in- 
tervals of  public  work,  I  have  had  no  one 
to  talk  with  but  God  ;  in  the  episodes  of 
that  public  work  itself,  when  again  and 
again  it  has  happened  that  sons,  and  broth- 
ers, and  husbands  in  distant  cities  have 
yielded  to  the  silent  compulsions  of  God's 
grace  in  the  very  hour  when  friends  were 
praying  for  them  ;  it  is  in  these  things  that 
there  has  come  to  me,  in  my  own  expe- 
rience, the  rediscovery  of  this  Forgotten 
Secret  of  prayer.  To  him  who  has  found 
the  secret,  life  takes  a  new  significance,  and 
faith  receives  a  new  sanction.  We  have 
but  to  make  the  experiment  of  prayer  to 
discover  its  eternal  efficacy.  And  the  way 
of  that  experiment  is  so  simple  that  a  child 
may  understand  it : 

**BUT    THOU,     WHEN    THOU   PRAYEST, 
ENTER    INTO    THY    CLOSET,     AND  WHEN 
[63] 


The    Forgotten    Secret 

THOU   HAST  SHUT  THY   DOOR,    PRAY    TO 

THY  Father  which  is  in  secret  ;  and 
THY  Father  which  seeth  in  secret 
shall  reward  thee  openly." 


64] 


Date  Due 

"f^^M*!(L«L^ 

,, 

nov  \  4  'n 

^ 

